


Every Book He Can Get His Hands On (And Even Those He Can't)

by Butideasdontdie



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Blow Jobs, Books, Coming In Pants, Jamilton - Freeform, M/M, Porn, Smut, alexander is a slut for books, but he could be worse I guess, damn boy, holy shit this is dirty, jefferson is an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 21:09:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7070371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butideasdontdie/pseuds/Butideasdontdie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Hamilton is a slut for knowledge. </p><p>Quite literally.</p><p>(Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson shameless porn)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Book He Can Get His Hands On (And Even Those He Can't)

**Author's Note:**

> This is so sinful oh my god.

Life is full of moments. All different kinds of moments.

Happy moments, sad moments, angry moments, regretful moments, despairing moments. All sorts of moments that could be filed and considered in every which way. Life is made up of these moments, and Alexander simply can’t decide where this singular moment falls. Perhaps in the middle of all of these, and yet perhaps somewhere farther off. Somewhere dreamy and spectacular and lustful and utterly fucking idiotic.

The world is made up of knowledge.

This knowledge is not organized or ideally placed where the simple man may be able to easily obtain. Sure, there are the live-by-the-land ideals that keep men alive and kicking, but this isn’t the knowledge Hamilton yearns for. He wants economics, and the rise of ancient empires, and how to successfully become an ageless legend. He wants the significant and the daring. 

He wants what Thomas Jefferson has.

Not in his head, no. If anyone were to ask Alexander of the vast intelligence within the mind of Jefferson, that person would be either laughed or cursed out of the place. No, Hamilton wants the knowledge found in books. He wants the 2,000-plus-some books inhabiting the never-ending libraries that belong that Jefferson. Or, well, wanted. Hamilton, afterall, never stops until he achieves what his goal is. He gets what he wants, and most of the time, it is thanks to his brilliant and big mouth. 

He could probably imagine a million other places he could be right now, a million other ways to gain knowledge of this superiority; at this point, however, it would be pointless. He has already lost every other worthwhile thing in his life, he might as well throw himself to the dirt and let his pride fade away into whatever tarnished form of waste may remain.

The floor where he kneels is dirty, and he wonders how he managed to bring himself down to this level. How he considered, and followed through with, following Jefferson out of NYC on a so-called “business-trip” only to bring up the question of his multitude of books.

Whether or not he was willing to give up the knowledge that he collected throughout his visit to France. 

While Alexander might not have considered it begging, and it is a key note that he attempted to go about conversing with Jefferson on the subject as diligently as possible, in the end he was simply alike to a dog begging for a treat. 

Except, in this case, he turned out to be a highly erotic dog. 

With no sense of self-dignity. 

And a not-so-surprisingly unresponsive gag reflex.

Thomas Jefferson’s voice is low and raspy in his ear, with a Virginian twang underlining every sigh of pleasure that he permits Hamilton to hear. The dust, straw, and pebbles embedding themselves on to Alexander's swollen knees are long forgotten, replaced by the feeling of his agonizingly sore throat. 

It is going on 10 minutes since this began, Hamilton being pulled back and forth, thrown mouth first all over the place with no respect to his physical or emotional feelings. Not that he had any of the latter for Jefferson. He merely wanted books. But God, even HE couldn't deny the sex appeal of Thomas Jefferson. 

And so that's probably why he decided the best way to get what he wanted was by sucking Thomas Jefferson’s cock. 

“You know, your mouth sure sounds a lot better when all that's heard of it is you choking.”

Muffled groans, a protesting eye roll that as a matter of fact did not go un-noticed, and an agitated swat to Jefferson’s bare thigh. 

Jefferson stands facing the wall of his basement, in his own home believe it or not, with Alexander’s back cornered up against the solid surface. He has his fingers drawn through the roots of Alex’s dark hair and gives an angry yank when he senses the man acting in defiance. Jefferson's scorning eyes face down as he pulls Hamilton’s head back harshly in order to shove his aching cock even further down the throat of the man before him. He is disgusted, enraged, and utterly turned on all at the same time.

“You don't get to retain your pride, boy. You do what I tell you to and in return I ever so graciously let you put your grubby hands on my books. Now shut up and- oh Jesus Christ.” 

It is quite the sight, Jefferson's head thrown back with glistening lips gaping open as the man at his feet swallows around his member, despite the dull ache that he feels. His free hands easily preoccupy themselves, one going towards the soft spot of skin behind Jefferson's knee and the other reaching behind to fondle at Thomas’s sensitive testicles. Hamilton himself closes his eyes and sinfully finds himself enjoying the moment.

“Oh God, have you ever been told what a whore you are? You just suck and suck and suck. Jesus, I can only imagine how many men you've undone with that ridiculous mouth of yours. You're a dirty, dirty man Alexander Hamilton. And I can assure you this is a federal offense.” 

But he doesn't care, because he can hardly keep himself from surging forward and fucking Alexander’s damned throat like a battering-ram. And as a matter of fact, why doesn't he?

“That stupid fucking mouth of yours is brilliant Hamilton, but, God, I'm sure you could do much better even still. But oh, you're such a good whore. You look completely debauched. I can only imagine other ways in which I could use my cock to undo you. Would you like that, you filthy slut?”

Alex muffles a groan around Jefferson’s swollen cock, scratching his uneven fingernails down the calves of the man before him. He is being praised incessantly, and he would be lying if he said that it wasn't oh so satisfying. Jefferson rams forward, moaning indignantly as Hamilton does something delicious with the pad of his tongue and the slightest hint of teeth. Again, choking around the member, barely able to keep from coughing himself to death. 

Hamilton pulls off, much to Jefferson’s disapproval, heaving for breath and gripping steel-like onto the curve of Thomas’ thigh for support. His face is red and warm, sweat beading above his eyebrow and tears swelling in his eyes from his coughing fit. His hair is in disarray and he is the most turned-on he has been in weeks.

“Did I say to stop?”

“Fuck off Jefferson, I need to breathe.”

“You can breathe later, I don't recall this being a part of our agreement. I am being very generous you know.”

“This is generous? Man, I wouldn't want to see what you're like when you're playing mister mean guy.”

“Actually,” Jefferson drawls, not-quite bending over all the way to speak to Hamilton face-to-face, “seeing how things are going, I'm sure you'd absolutely love it.” He gestures to Alex’s crotch, where the outline of his erection can be seen through his dirty trousers. “You'd willingly be my whore. I mean, you already are. But don't worry, you're a good little whore.”

“Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up.” 

“Ah ah, that's not how you get what you want, now is it? I'd say you've done enough breathing. Now, get to it.” 

And with that, Jefferson has his fingers grasping harshly at Hamilton’s hair, pulling him forward and back onto his leaking cock. He doesn't bother letting Alex set the pace but instead starts fucking his mouth. If Hamilton is going to be an irritating prick the moment his mouth is free, then his mouth must never be free. 

“Oh shit, this is so fucking good, it should be illegal. Oh wait, it is!” 

Alex only groans against him, haven't given up on holding himself upright. Instead he leans back against the solid wall, eyes squeezed shut and hand falling to the button on his trousers. With his other hand he palms harshly at his growing erection, looking for some sort of release. 

“Knock that off, you little, ah, you little fucker. You aren't getting pleasure from this.”

Even with Jefferson’s commands, Hamilton manages to slip his hand into his pants enough to get a hand around his own aching prick. As Jefferson surges forward again and again, fucking his dick nearly down Alex’s throat, the short man takes up jacking himself off as best he can. He groans in appreciation as Jefferson places a hand on his chin, roughly turning his head up to meet the man eye-to-eye.

“God, you're such a little bitch, but man are you good at this. And, oh god, I want to do so many things to you. Aside from strangling you. Ha.” 

And in less than ten seconds Jefferson is coming hard down Hamilton’s throat, fingers scratching at Alex’s face, and a low groan emitting from his own throat. It is intense and dirty, and so brilliant, and in a few seconds Hamilton is following in-toe. With a long drawn out gasp of relief Hamilton slides down the floor and onto his back with his hands falling free from his open trousers. Jefferson is sneering above him, hands searching for his own bundled trousers. 

“So, those books?”

“Yeah, the books.”


End file.
